


Late Nights at Ridge Farm

by Rubadubababyoil



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Poor Brian May, Sleepiness, caring Freddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22931749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubadubababyoil/pseuds/Rubadubababyoil
Summary: Brian has been up all night working on "The Prophet's Song" at Ridge Farm, becoming increasingly sleep-deprived, and Freddie just wants to be a good boyfriend and get him into bed.~Based on when Brian apparently stayed up until 5 a.m. working on the song, only for an unfinished version to be stolen and played on the radio, and for him to ask, "Is this a nightmare?" in response.
Relationships: Brian May/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 9
Kudos: 65





	Late Nights at Ridge Farm

**Author's Note:**

> This should go without saying, but this is 100% fiction. I don't think this actually happened. This is just meant to be a bit of caring fluff between Brian and Freddie for fun.

The creation of this album was stressful for all of them (although Freddie just _knew_ , deep in his heart, that this would be their big break), but tonight, Brian was struggling the most. He had awoken one morning, claiming that a song came to him in a dream. When Brian started writing it, Freddie hadn’t thought it would be even longer than his baby, “Bohemian Rhapsody”, but he was sincerely impressed with what he heard so far. He loved moments when he was reminded of why he was so captivated by Brian’s playing and music during the Smile era in the first place. “The Prophet’s Song” was complex and dramatic--Freddie always did like singing a dramatic piece--but it wasn’t finished. The record label and the press wanted to hear a preview of the album, though, so they all cobbled together some music that could be played for everyone, including an unfinished version of “The Prophet’s Song.” The bulk of it was recorded, but Brian wasn’t done putting everything together yet, especially not the canon section in the middle. Ever since that dream, he insisted that he had a clear tune in his head, and that he wanted to work on the majority of the song.

Now, though, Freddie was concerned about him. He woke up to an empty bed to use the loo, and was about to crawl under the covers and fall back asleep, but then his eye caught the time on the clock on the bedside table. It was well past four in the morning, and Brian wasn’t back from the studio yet. Freddie rubbed his eyes with a tired moan. He had two options: go back to sleep, or go back to the studio and drag Brian to bed. The first option was tempting, but the nerves prodding at his chest wouldn’t let him close his eyes and stop worrying about Brian in the studio, sleep-deprived and driving himself mad. 

That was how Freddie found himself putting his shoes on and muttering, “You’re lucky I love you, Brian Bloody Harold May.” They may have gotten into fights while making music, but that was all work. Freddie wasn’t raised to let his loved ones suffer. Before long, he was standing in the doorway of the studio near five in the morning, arms crossed over his chest. They were the only ones in the studio by this hour, of course, and Brian was sitting at the soundboard. He was in the same white button-down shirt from yesterday morning, but now it was wrinkled and crumpled. He was hunched over the soundboard, his mess of curls wild and hanging in his face. He hadn’t heard Freddie come in.

Freddie stifled a yawn and slowly approached him. “Brian?” he called softly.

Brian jerked upright and whipped his head around to look at him with wide, frantic eyes. “Oh, Fred,” he calmed down, and then exhaustion snapped back into his features. His skin was white as a sheet, save for the dark, nearly purple circles under his eyes. His posture resembled a puppet’s whose strings had been cut. “What’re you doing here?” he mumbled.

“Darling,” Freddie’s heart tore at the sight of him. “It’s almost five o’clock. You need to come back to the room and get some sleep.” They were sharing a room at Ridge Farm, and the entire place had such a peaceful atmosphere that it almost felt like a vacation. Almost. Not currently, though. Brian didn’t shave at all last week, a sign that he was becoming depressed. He shaved yesterday morning, but Freddie was still worried about him. He had a way of hiding his pain until it began to overwhelm him.

Brian shook his head. “I’ve still got work to do,” he said, scratching idly at his jaw. “But you,” he squinted up at him against the fluorescent lights, “you didn’t have to come here. Go back to bed. I’ll be back soon.”

“You said that six hours ago,” Freddie reminded him, taking a couple steps forward so he could reach down and cup his pale cheek in his hand. Despite the lack of a visible blush, Brian’s skin was hot, almost feverish to the touch. Freddie cooed, “Dear, this isn’t healthy, and that’s me saying that! Me!”

That earned him a weak grin from Brian. “I’ve just got to finish the song,” he said, for the fourth time since that evening.

“You can finish it after sleeping,” Freddie said, brushing curls away from his forehead. “How about I wake you in two hours?” he asked, fully intending _not_ to wake him up and let him sleep as long as he wanted, but maybe a fake compromise would convince him.

Brian, too tired to see through his ruse, considered it with a lethargic blink. “I dunno…” He was sagging into Freddie’s touch.

Damn, he was more tired than he thought. It was going to be difficult to haul a tall, lanky, half-asleep Brian up to their room. Freddie was tired, too, but he wasn’t going to allow Brian to pass out here. Besides, Freddie was no stranger to working until dawn, and he knew from experience that by this point in the night, a person’s brain was too fried to produce anything of real value.

During this train of thought, Freddie felt more weight press into his hand. He looked back down to see Brian’s eyes closed, his cheek smushed against his hand, and his lips parted. Warmth flooded Freddie’s chest like a tidal wave, and he had to bite his lip to stop a wide smile, because yes, Brian looked like an absolute dear right now, but he definitely couldn’t go on like this. Kneeling down slowly, careful not to move his hand, Freddie stroked Brian’s cheek with his thumb. When they were alone like this, he could truly let his love show. Roger and John were accepting, of course, but they knew that other people around them only kept their mouths shut because they didn’t want to miss out on the success of Queen. As much as Freddie told himself he didn’t care what bigots thought, he did. It was something he still struggled with, the memories of getting in trouble for kissing a boy back in India always in the back of his mind. But still, sometimes Freddie felt like such a cheesy romantic that he was nearly disgusted with himself for being so besotted, but when no one else was watching, he could allow himself to dote upon Brian. 

His thumb stroked over the soft, pale skin. “Bri,” he whispered.

Brian’s eyebrows furrowed together.

 _“Bri?”_ he drew out his name playfully.

His eyes fluttered open. “Wha?” he mumbled, voice a low rumble.

Freddie felt so fond that he couldn’t even think about how his beaming grin revealed all of his teeth (although Brian reassured him that he thought he had a beautiful smile in the past). The rumble of Brian’s voice was sexy, too, but a shag was impossible right now. He looked forward to finishing the album and spending an entire day in bed before they went on tour. He had even started stocking up on lube recently.

“Come lie with me,” Freddie said, and slowly guided him to stand up from the chair.

Realizing he lost the fight, Brian let out a big yawn and nodded, his curls bobbing. “Jus’ a couple hours,” he slurred.

“Of course, darling.”

It was an awkward stumble to their shared room, with Brian leaning on Freddie as if he were drunk. 

“You must take better care of yourself, darling,” Freddie whispered as they ascended the stairs, hoping they weren’t making enough noise to awaken Roger and John.

“I’ll try,” Brian said through a yawn.

There was no way he was awake enough to shower now, so Freddie helped Brian strip down to his pants and climb into bed. Maybe they could take a quick shower _together_ later, who knows? Freddie shook his head. He couldn’t let himself go down that line of thought right now. They both needed sleep. Due to his height, Brian was usually the big spoon, but tonight, Freddie got into bed and gathered him close to his chest.

Brian let himself be pulled close, mumbling incoherently and nuzzling his cheek into Freddie’s T-shirt-clad chest.

Freddie smiled and gently ran a hand through his thick curls, savoring the feelings of his warm, thin body against him. “You’re completely _exhausted,_ dear,” he whispered. “You’re like a ragdoll.” 

Brian mumbled something resembling, _“Wake me in two hours.”_

“Absolutely,” Freddie lied, and let the tiredness weighing down his eyelids win over.

* * *

Freddie’s eyes flew open when there was a knock on the door. It was light in the room now, and the clock on the bedside table revealed it was 9:10 in the morning. He turned his head, but saw Brian was still asleep, and let out a sigh of relief. Whoever was at the door could wait. Brian needed more rest. Carefully getting out of bed to avoid waking him, Freddie got up and ran a quick hand through his long, black hair. He probably looked like a mess.

He opened the door and was met with Roger and John’s nervous faces.

“Freddie?” John asked. “Is Brian in there?”

“Of course,” Freddie said. “He’s asleep.”

John’s mouth twisted to the side unhappily. “Well, we might have to wake him up.”

“Why?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “He was working all night long. He only came to bed at five because I dragged him here, myself.” He wasn’t keen on waking him up now, after only four hours of sleep. “Can’t it wait?”

Roger winced. “He was working on ‘The Prophet’s Song’?”

Freddie didn’t like the look on his face. “Yes, why?” he asked slowly. “Has something happened?”

“That wanker Kenny Everett happened,” Roger said. “Yesterday, we gave the press some of our music as a preview, yeah? He played Brian’s fucking song!” he fumed.

Freddie’s stomach dropped. “The unfinished track?”

“Yes,” Roger threw up his hands. “They stole the tape!”

“Oh, no,” Freddie looked back to the slumbering form under the covers, still dead to the world. “He’s going to have a fit.” And rightly so. Freddie would hate if anyone outside of the studio heard one of his compositions before it was ready. He felt angry on his boyfriend’s behalf. “I can’t believe this!” he snapped.

“Maybe not a lot of people heard it?” John offered.

Freddie always had a soft spot for John, but he couldn’t hold back the weary look he gave him. “Fat chance of that, Deacy.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Oh, Brian’s going to lose his mind.”

“Which is why we think you should tell him,” Roger said. “You can calm him down faster.”

“In this case, I’m not so sure,” he muttered. “But I’ll try. But you lot are coming with me.”

Roger and John didn’t look pleased, but they agreed.

“Do you think they would play it more than once?” John asked as they entered the room.

“Not sure,” Roger said. “Maybe we should turn the radio on and check.”

The clock on the bedside table was also a radio. Roger turned it on and started to mess with the dial as Freddie gingerly sat on the bed. He dreaded the reaction that was about to come.

“Brian?”

Brian was deeply asleep, lying on his back with one arm thrown over his head and mess of curls, his fingers touching the headboard. He was slack-jawed and snoring steadily, without a single trace of alertness on his face. He still had dark circles under his eyes. He was difficult to wake up at the best of times, but when he was sleep-deprived? Oh, he was going to be in a monstrous mood.

Freddie really hated waking him, especially when he looked this adorable and so desperately needed the rest. If it were up to him, he would curl up and bury his face into Brian’s chest and lie with him until he awakened naturally. But he knew that Brian would want to hear about this as soon as possible. If it were up to him, too, he would have woken him up with soft kisses to his cheeks and eyelids, but he decided to behave with Roger and John standing right there. 

Freddie placed his hand on his bare chest. He shook him a little. “Brian? Brian, love, wake up.” When that didn’t work, Freddie started to caress his jaw tenderly, near his soft, open mouth. “Bri, come on, wake up,” he said gently.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Roger’s eye roll was practically audible. _“Brian,”_ he said firmly.

Brian’s mouth snapped shut and he groaned. “Mmm?”

_“Get up.”_

Freddie sent a quick glare over his shoulder at Roger for waking him so abruptly, and then took both of Brian’s hands to sit him up slowly in the bed. “Brian, dear, um, something’s happened.”

Hair a complete mess and eyes bleary, Brian was clearly only half-awake. “What?”

Just then, like out of a film, the voice on the radio announced, “And in case you missed it earlier, ladies and gents, here’s our exclusive preview of Queen’s upcoming song, ‘The Prophet’s Song.’”

And then, a chunk of the song was played from the unfinished track.

The three of them looked to Brian, waiting for his reaction.

Brian blinked a couple of times, face scrunching up in confusion. He rubbed his eye, hand moving slowly and clumsily. “Is that…? Is this a nightmare?” he asked, sounding like a confused child.

“No,” John said quietly. “It’s not.”

“The tape we put together for the press was stolen,” Roger explained.

It took several seconds of dazed blinking before fire zapped into Brian’s eyes, and he was out of the bed and pulling on clothes quicker than a flash of lightning. “What the _fuck?”_ he shouted. “What time even is it? I told you to wake me in two hours, Freddie!”

“I fell asleep, too,” Freddie said defensively, which wasn’t a lie, but wasn’t the full truth, either.

Brian was too busy ranting and raving about _those bloody bastards_ and _I knew I should’ve kept working_ and _I’m finishing the song today, damn it!_ and _you bloody useless boyfriend!_ He stormed out of the room and thundered down the stairs.

The remaining three stared after him in silence for a moment. His last remark strung. Brian said things he didn’t mean when he was angry--they all did--but Freddie was more insecure than he liked to admit. He was just trying to be a _good_ boyfriend...

Then, Roger turned to Freddie. “You know how he gets when he’s in these moods,” he said, like he knew about the ache in Freddie’s chest (considering that they were best friends, he probably did).

“I know,” he said, but sounded deflated.

Roger clapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon. Get dressed and you can beat me at table tennis again.”

That put a flicker of a smile on his face. “Okay.”

* * *

He didn’t see Brian again until after dinner.

The rest of them kept their distance throughout the day, putting some finishing touches on other songs and playing games to keep Freddie’s mind off Brian. He was lucky to have Roger and John as friends, who kept trying to cheer him up in their own ways.

“You’re too good for the curly git, anyway,” Roger said casually after a couple of drinks.

Freddie laughed lightly, knowing that Roger was just trying to make him smile. “Some says, I’m inclined to agree with you,” he said before taking a sip of his drink. It was just a joke, though, because sometimes, he wondered if he was even good enough for Brian—intelligent, articulate, meticulous Brian…

At night in the room, Freddie was combing through his hair before bed when Brian came in wearing his pajamas, freshly showered.

Freddie thought about ignoring him, but he wasn’t actually angry, just a little hurt and still concerned about his health and sleep schedule.

Brian came up behind Freddie and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.

Freddie put down the brush on the bedside table and leaned into his touch. “Is the song finished?” he asked.

“Now it is,” Brian said, turning his face to nuzzle his nose into Freddie’s hair. “I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier,” he murmured gently.

Freddie wished he could hold a grudge, just to be a brat, but he knew he would have freaked out if the same thing happened to his songs. Besides, Brian was sleep-deprived. “You’re always grumpy when you’re rudely awakened,” Freddie said, turning in his arms to look at him.

Brian grinned sheepishly. “Yeah.” His hair was extra fluffy and bouncy now that he washed and dried it, and Freddie playfully tugged on a curl. 

“I’ll listen to the finished song first thing tomorrow morning,” Freddie promised, feeling a little flutter of excitement to hear it.

“Definitely.” Brian kissed him briefly. “Thanks for looking out for me, baby.”

Freddie placed a hand on his thin chest, his heart warming at the pet name. “Someone’s got to,” he smiled.

Brian grasped his chin, his grin turning fond. “There’s that lovely smile.”

Freddie’s cheeks flushed and he ducked his head shyly. “Bri,” he scolded.

Brian pulled his body close by the waist and kissed his cheek.

Freddie turned his head and captured his soft lips into a proper kiss. They stood there in the quiet of the night at Ridge Farm, kissing slowly. Freddie loved burying his hands into his curls and hearing the little hum of pleasure in Brian’s throat whenever he did it. Freddie shivered when Brian’s hot, slick tongue pushed past his lips and licked inside of his mouth. Kissing Brian had a way of making the chaos of the world around them melt away. They weren’t two rockstars anymore—just two young men, two friends, finding comfort in each other’s touch.

“The album is nearly done,” Brian said roughly against his lips. “Afterwards, I can’t wait to fuck you,” he breathed.

Freddie swallowed. He loved how dirty Brian’s mouth could be, especially when he said words like those so gently. 

_“You feel so good, baby, so tight for me,”_ Brian would often say softly. _“Let me hear you scream.”_

“Why can’t we do it now?” Freddie asked.

Brian pulled away with a cheeky grin. “Sorry, Freddie. I need my rest.” He walked over to the bed and got under the covers.

Freddie stared at him, his jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” he said.

“You bastard!” Freddie stomped his foot.

Brian chuckled. “Patience, Freddie, patience.”

Freddie glared at him and got into bed, telling his body not to get aroused. “I can’t believe you,” he grumbled.

Brian rolled over so he could wrap his arm around Freddie, pressed up against his back. “In all seriousness, I am rather tired.”

Freddie sighed and closed his eyes. He cuddled back into the embrace. “All right, darling. Let’s sleep. But you owe me a blow job.”

“Sure.” Brian kissed his temple. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

And if Freddie couldn’t sleep because Brian snored in his ear all night, well, he would wait to fuss about it until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> This just.....happened after I thought of sleepy Brian May lol


End file.
